


Always Here

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Everyone lives, Fili would make a good king, Gen, Kili is an awesome brother, King Fili, Mental Health Issues, Poor Fíli, except Thorin, i want to hug him, just a leg and an arm here and there, nothing to worry about, oh yeah fili and kili lose a few limbs, ok LOTS of angst, whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 21:59:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2324636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fili and Kili survive the battle. Thorin does not. Now Fili has to take up the crown, and it weighs heavily on him. </p><p> Beware, there's a lot of angst and stuff going on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Here

The first thing Fili registered was worry. It was surprising, actually, if he reflected, that pain wasn’t his waking sensation. No, it was worry. Worry for his little brother, worry for his uncle, worry for the rest of the company. He didn’t remember much from the battle, apart from bloodlust roaring in his ears, the arrival of orcs, fighting Azog with Kili, defending Thorin as his uncle lay injured on the ground, spitting blood.

Fili sat up suddenly. “Uncle.” He whispered. He swung his legs out of bed, brushing the covers aside… and howled, falling back on the bed as pain lanced through his mind, obliterating all else. Clutching the stump below his elbow he laid curled up in a ball, whimpering gently. His vision flickered as he gave off a deep-throated moan of pain, barely registering the healers rushing over to his bed. Oin barged through the small crowd, hurrying to Fili’s side.

“You must be careful at first, my king.” The dwarf said gently. “It will heal with time.” He took out some strange liquid and forced a spoonful between Fili’s lips. The other healers dispersed; there were other patients those needed tending to.

“Kili…” Fili murmured sleepily. “Uncle…”

“Ssh.” The old dwarf murmured, although Fili was sure Oin hadn’t understood him. “Hush, your majesty. You must heal.”

Fili’s last thought was that Oin had called him ‘king’ and not ‘prince’ and what that meant regarding Thorin’s fate.

 

The next time Fili awoke, it was dark, and Kili was at his side, no more than a shadow, gently holding his left hand, his uninjured hand. Fili moaned and his eyelids fluttered, and in an instant, his brother was upon him.

“Fee! How d’you feel? We won, Fee, we won! The mountain is ours! D’you remember anything? Are you all right? Does it hurt? I got your swords for you, one of them is broken, like my bow, but you can fix them, we’re going to make new ones together, just like in Ered Luin, and…”

Fili smiled sadly. He knew his brother well enough to see past the excited chatter. Kili was falling apart, with pain, with worry, he did not know. Talking had always been Kili’s way of handling things. Fili stretched out his left hand, movements still uncoordinated, vision still blurred. Cupped his brother’s face with his hand. Stroked over his cheekbone. Kili stopped talking.

“Oh, Fili.” He began to sob quietly, caressing the stump that had used to be Fili’s right hand. “Fili, everyone was fighting. I was so scared… so scared. And then, when Azog… when he cut it off, your arm, I mean, and brushed me aside like… I was so helpless, Fili. I could just sit and cry and cradle your body and Thorin…”

“Uncle.” Fili said, as if remembering. “Uncle Thorin, what happened to him?” The shadow that was Kili looked at its lap, and shook his head. Fili’s movements stopped. He just stared at the silhouette of his little brother, tears pricking his eyes. “You’re the King now, brother.” Kili whispered. “You’re the king.”

Fili howled. He howled with pain, he howled with loss, he howled with the sheer unfairness of it all. He howled and he sobbed and he screamed until he was a whimpering mess, until he blacked out, with Kili still clutching his hand and his brother’s words echoing in his ears. _“You’re the King now.”_

Fili couldn’t remember the last time he had dreamed. Long before the battle, maybe even before Laketown or Mirkwood. But he dreamed now, and in his dreams, Thorin came to him, held him in his arms as if he were a little dwarfling once more. He spoke to him, calming him, his deep, rumbling voice running through Fili’s bones as the new king sobbed into his predecessors long, black hair.

_“You are my nephew, Fili. My heir. I have taught you all you need to know, and more. You are worthy of my throne. You are of the line of Durìn, and you were born to rule. Do not forget yourself in grief, namadûl. Rule wisely and rule fairly. Now that the mountain is won and we have to work to establish peace with the Men of Dale and the Elves, your courtesy and wisdom will be needed.”_

Thorin drew back and held Fili’s face between his hands. _“Fili, remember this: The Line of Durìn must be secured. Build up Erebor again, ensure peace, work to make us a self-sustaining nation once more, but remember that you or Kili must secure the line of Durìn. It is your duty. What is a king without an heir?”_

 _“I have an heir.”_ Fili protested. _“Kili will have the throne when I die.”_

_“If you die of old age, Kili will soon follow. And, truth be told, I would not want Kili upon the throne. It would not be… right. You need sons, or nephews. Promise me, Fili.”_

_“I promise.”_ A small smile. _“I’ll name him after you. Thorin III, son of Fìli, of the line of Durìn.”_

His uncle smiled back, and his dark hair began to dissolve into stars those swirled around the older dwarf, hiding him from view, carrying him away. _“I daresay that sounds majestic enough.”_

Fili woke from his dream slowly, languidly, as if moving through honey. It was light now, a shaft of sun settling across his chest. Kili was draped across his legs, snoring gently, still clutching his left hand. Fili smiled, and wanted to reach out with his right to stroke Kili’s dark hair out of his face, but pulled back with a frown as he remembered his injury. His _maiming._ He looked down at the stump that had replaced his right arm, a feeling of numbness settling deep inside him. He felt crippled, tainted, useless. It astounded him how much of his life had been dependent upon that one limb, how strange he felt without it.

A moan sounded from the foot of the bed as Kili stirred. Fili smiled as his little brother lifted his head, his tangled mop of brown hair obscuring his face almost completely. Then the younger Durìn wiped the hair out of his face and Fili froze, the smile sliding off his face.

He didn’t know how it had even occurred to him to think that Kili had survived the battle unscathed. Why should he? There had been so many orcs, fighting to get to them, to kill them, the last of the line of Durìn. Despite Thranduil being there, the king of the elves himself, and Beorn, who had probably been causing trouble for the orcs since the beginning of time, the three of them had most likely been the most targeted creatures on the battlefield.

But this… Fili wasn’t prepared for it. “Kee…” he whispered faintly, and his younger brother whipped around upon noticing he was awake. “Fili!” he smiled broadly.

“Kee…” Fili repeated, stretched out his right hand before remembering that he needed to use his left now. “Oh, Kili… what have I done? It’s all my fault.” His calloused thumb ran over the leather of Kili’s eyepatch, and tears welled up in his eyes. “What have I done?”

“It isn’t your fault.” Kili calmed him, grabbing his arms tightly. “This…” he indicated the eyepatch, “isn’t your fault, neither is that,” he gestured at Fili’s stump, “or Thorin’s death, or this.” He lifted up his left leg so Fili could see the odd contraption of metal and wood that replaced flesh from the knee downwards. The blonde dwarf could only stare at it, stare at what used to be Kili’s leg, bile and tears both rising up in him. It _was_ his fault. Everything was, Thorin’s death, Kili’s injuries, his own wounds. And now he had to take a throne he wasn’t ready to sit upon, to rule a kingdom he hardly knew.

The sobs that racked his body were strangely calming, and so were his brothers arms around him, the whispered words Kili whispered in his ear, snatches of Khuzdul, words of love and support and promise. Fili didn’t know how long he cried, only that Oin came over once, asking Kili to leave so he could get some sleep, and Kili refused, saying “I have to be here for him. Sleep won’t help, not now.”

When he had calmed down, he still lay in Kili’s arms for a while, shivering gently, trying to block out the world as Kili held him as if he were the older brother and not Fili. “Look at us.” He mumbled, hands fisting in Kili’s tunic. “The proud heirs of Durìn.” He raised his head to look Kili in the eye. “Cripples, both of us.”

“Battle scars.” Kili smiled gently. “They’re the best type of scars.”

“No they aren’t. They aren’t any different. Do you think anyone cares if the miner’s boy lost his arm to a sword or to an explosion? It’s the same outcome. He’s a cripple, an extra mouth to be fed. Useless.”

“But you aren’t a miner’s boy.” Kili protested. “You’re the king. And a king doesn’t need this.” He tapped Fili’s elbow gently, careful not to touch the sensitive stump. “A king needs _this.”_ He tapped Fili’s chest, over the heart, and then his forehead. “And you have more than enough of that.”

 

Fili’s healing was slow and gradual. Kili hardly left his side at first, but soon he had to take up his brothers kingly duties and couldn’t spend so much time in the sick bay. When Fili was well enough to sit up and do some work, Kili, Balin and Ori would bring him stacks of documents to read through and sign. Fili got to know the state of his kingdom from the sickbed, by statistics and reports and peace treaties. While the elves were still distrustful and difficult, the men of Dale seemed more than eager to ensure peace and trade between the two nations.

His health improved by the day, his strength increasing as both his soul and body healed. The healers let him walk around the sick bay a bit, leaning on another dwarf as he stumbled around the room carefully. Fili hated doing anything that could earn him attention, though. Even when he was lying in his bed, writing a letter or drawing up a treaty, he could feel the other dwarves’ gazes hot on his back, hear the whispers as he struggled to write with his left hand instead of his right.

He felt ashamed of himself every time his injury became obvious, the way he managed to soak his beard every time he ate or drank, the way he crashed to the floor when attempting to get out of bed. He had also received a spear in his hip, Oin told him once he was strong enough to stand. He would permanently have to use a walking stick, a concept Fili was almost afraid of. Sometimes his hip would seize up and Fili was left curled up in bed, unable to do anything more than whimper and clench his teeth against the pain.

In the nights, the dwarves’ whispers followed him into his dreams, rising up into huge dream shadows of monsters bearing down upon him with flaming eyes and snapping fangs. Fili tried to fight them off, but he could no longer wield twin swords and they fell upon him, hissing again and again: _“Cripple, cripple, filthy, weak cripple.”_

The only time the intense weight was lifted from his shoulders was when Kili visited. With his brother, Fili didn’t care how weak he was, how crippled. Only when Kili fell asleep next to his brother, young face relaxed and peaceful, marred only by the leather eyepatch and a long scar tracing down his forehead to his cheekbone, only then did Fili feel the tears come.

 

As soon as Fili had enough strength, he was removed from the sick bay to his own chambers. Kili insisted on sharing with him in order to take care of his older brother. By now, Fili had almost mastered using his left, but he still had the tendency to reach for things with the stump of his right hand. Almost before he had entered his new chambers, Balin pressed  a long schedule in his hand, smiling at him slightly. “Time to show yourself to your subjects and partners, laddie.”

Fili bit his lip, nodding. He didn’t feel ready for anyone to see him, not yet. He didn’t feel like he had much of a choice, though; he was king. He had to do this. Balin patted him on the shoulder as he left.

“I’m sorry, laddie.” The old dwarf murmured, shuffling away. Fili stared down at the list in his hand. At the top, in Balin’s neat print, were the words: _Thorin’s Funeral._

 

“Hey, it’ll be fine.” Kili helped his older brother fit his arms through the sleeves of a heavy coat. Fili ignored the assertion. “You know I can dress myself?” He watched as Kili buttoned his sleeve so that the stump of his hand was hidden. Kili straightened up and patted him on the cheek. “Not yet, you can’t.”

Fili sighed and let Kili drag him down onto his bed as his younger brother braided his hair and beard. “I just wish the first time I faced my people wasn’t at my uncle’s funeral.”

Kili slid in the last bead and nudged Fili gently. The blond brother shuffled back to let Kili settle between his legs and began braiding his brother’s hair back. It was difficult with only one hand, but years of braiding practice had allowed Fili to master at least that easily.

Kili reached back awkwardly to rub small circles on Fili’s ribs. “It’ll be fine. You don’t even have to give a speech or anything. Just the parting words. The traditional parting words. You can do that.”

Fili sighed and wrapped his arms around his younger brother, burying his face in the dark hair. “I hope so, Kili. I hope so.”

 

The funeral passed in a blur. Fili couldn’t remember anything, just the tinny sound of his own voice as he said the last formal words of farewell, the noble, frozen face of his uncle as he was lowered into his tomb. The whole company had cried, mourning for their lost friend and family, but Fili was just left with a bitter taste in his mouth as he held Kili in his arms, holding back tears, because he was not _allowed_  to cry. He had to be strong now, and it was difficult.

 

“Kili?” It was dark in their shared chambers, and Fili was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “Hmm?” Kili sounded half-asleep, but Fili heard him roll over to face him.

“I don’t think I can do this.” The king whispered to the dark ceiling above them. Kili’s bed creaked and then Fili could hear his brother hopping over to his bed on his one remaining leg. A gust of cold air over his naked torso as Kili lifted the blankets, then the dwarf prince slipped in behind him, throwing an arm over the elder.

“I know.” He murmured. “I know.”

 

The throne of Erebor, while very decorative, was also _extremely_ uncomfortable. Fili would gladly switch places with his little brother who sometimes had to stand beside him when more influential personalities had an audience. The young dwarf had difficulties sitting still after an hour of endless _talking,_ but he was afraid of looking like a restless little dwarfling if he moved.

After an especially tedious discussion with Thranduil, Fili was _desperate_ for movement. Leaning heavily on the decorative axe that served as a crutch, the king stood carefully and made his way down the stairs to the bridge separating the throne from the rest of the mountain. He sighed heavily. He had known being a king wouldn’t be fun, but he had never imagined it to be _this_ boring.

Sudden pain. That was all he could feel, a bolt of liquid agony spreading from his hip to leave him writhing and screaming as he fell to the ground, white-hot pain numbing his brain. He vaguely heard his guards calling out, heavy boots, strong hands lifting him up. _Dwalin_ , his brain managed to supply as the battle-hardened warrior threw Fili’s arm over his shoulder and helped the king cross the rest of the bridge.

“Come, your majesty.” Dwalin’s rumble reminded Fili a bit of Thorin’s voice, cutting through his addled mind, calming him. “It’ll get better. Let’s get you to your chambers, my king.” The large bodyguard shut the door behind them as they entered Fili’s chambers and helped him onto his bed. “Don’t worry, Fili. You won’t even feel your hip in a few years time.”

Fili smiled as Dwalin immediately dropped his formal manner. “You just rest, lad. I’ll send Kili over as soon as possible. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

Fili smiled. “Thanks, Dwalin.”

“No matter.” The large warrior smiled, closing the door behind him. Fili breathed out, staring at the ceiling in a blend of frustration and anger. Huffing out a deep breath, he sat up before pushing himself up into a standing position and going over to the washbasin. He reached out with his right hand to steady himself, yelping as he fell forward and just barely managed to steady himself with his left.

For a long while Fili stood there, half bent over, breathing heavily. Slowly, he raised his head to look up at his reflection furiously. A strange dwarf looked back at him. Mussed blond hair, red, hollow eyes, but young, too young to be his reflection. He was a _cripple_ , weak, useless. And old, he felt so _old._

He stared at himself for a few minutes, trying to find anything, anything in this stranger’s face that reminded him of himself.

 _“Cripple_.” He snarled at his reflection, straightening up. _“Stupid CRIPPLE!”_  The young king gave a wordless roar, smashing his balled left fist into the glass furiously. It shattered, shards of it sticking in Fili’s knuckles, his hand covered in blood in a matter of seconds. His howl was not of pain. It was anything but pain, everything he felt except the glass sticking in his flesh.

Tears ran down his face, tears he had held back for too long. His sobs were violent and yet strangely liberating, the breathless, choking sort that hurts a little but feels so _good._ He sank to his knees amongst the shards of glass, tears and blood dripping to the ground in equal measure, shaking as his tears found their almost soundless release.

That was how Kili found him when he rushed into the room as fast as he could on his prosthetic leg, hair flying as he skidded to a halt. Fili looked up at him, tearstained and ruffled, blood soaking into the white fabric of his tunic. Without a word, Kili walked over to his brother, glass crunching under booted feet. Crouching down, Kili gathered his brother into his arms, letting the blond sob into his shoulder. Fili’s hand clutched at Kili’s cloak, his stump pressing into the younger’s back.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, hiccupping gently. “I’m so sorry, Kee.”

“Shh.” The prince murmured, kissing the top of Fili’s head gently. “Don’t be, Fili.”

They stayed like that until Fili’s tears had dried up and his sobs had blown over into dry breaths. Only then did Kili help his brother up and over to the bed, clean away the blood, pick out the shards buried in Fili’s knuckles and bandage the king’s hand.

“Don’t worry.” He whispered into Fili’s hair as he drew his older brother to his chest, lying down and pulling a blanket over the both of them.

“It gets better. And we’re always here for you. Never forget that.”


End file.
